They’ve found me, Yana thought, and I walked right into their trap.
Mickey must have sensed her dismay, because she saw his bright, optimistic smile fall the instant before the vase exploded and a huge fireball incinerated them both.
CHAPTER 9
I WONDERED HOW many miserable stories the room had heard. Lined with soundproofing tiles that had been scored with years of graffiti, the interview room had been my home for the past two hours. As a volunteering witness, I’d been allowed to keep my possessions, and I checked my watch. It was 11:43 a.m. I read some of the messages carved in the wall tiles, my gaze lingering on those that made a particular impression.
This is no place for innocence.
Brooklyn rocks!
He had it coming, so I served it up cold.
I pushed the plastic chair back from the table that was bolted to the floor and stretched my legs. They ached after the chase and the area around my solar plexus was still sore.
The Latino detective who’d driven me to the precinct was called Rick Tana, and he was in charge of the unfolding investigation. I’d told him everything I’d witnessed and had re-counted the chase and my fight with the assassin. Like any experienced cop, he’d listened with a degree of detached skepticism before probing my story for details that would either confirm or disprove the truth. After a while he’d excused himself and left the room. I knew he was checking me out, but I didn’t mind the wait. It gave me a chance to chew over the shooting.
Had Karl Parker known he was a target? Is that what he’d wanted to discuss? He was a former Marine flight instructor, an extremely successful business leader and a family man, but what could have put him in an assassin’s crosshairs? The guy I’d chased wasn’t some random nut. The motorcycle getaway made it clear the shooting had been planned. If the guards hadn’t thwarted that method of escape, we’d have never known about the helicopter, which had undoubtedly been the motorcycle’s intended destination. The shooting had all the hallmarks of a professional hit, but why would anyone want to target Karl?
I was mulling over the questions when the door opened and Rick Tana entered.
“Why didn’t you mention you’re the head of Private?” he asked, referring to my business, the largest and most successful investigation agency in the world.
“Didn’t seem relevant,” I replied. The truth was I didn’t want to invite scandal. Karl’s death was sure to be big news and I didn’t want the press drawing any conclusions from my presence at the listing. I’d been there as a friend, but the nature of my work meant there was a good chance an imaginative journalist would manufacture a scandalous reason for my attendance.
“Well, it is relevant,” Rick remarked. “Were you working a case?” he asked, proving I had good reason to worry about people questioning my motivation.
“Like I said, Karl Parker was an old friend.”
“I’m sorry. It can’t have been easy to see your friend be killed in that way,” the detective replied. “Thank you for cooperating. You’re free to go.”
“I thought I was here voluntarily,” I said.
Rick smirked. “Yeah. Of course you were.”
“You get a lead on the chopper?” I asked as I headed for the door.
“Not yet. But there’s a group claiming responsibility for the shooting. They call themselves the Ninety-nine. It’s all over the news.”
I took my phone from my pocket and checked CNN.com. Karl’s murder was the lead story, and despite all my years dealing with trauma and death, seeing his picture brought a lump to my throat.
“You OK?” Rick asked.
I ignored the question and clicked on one of the headlines: “Radical Group Claims Responsibility.” I scanned the story, which featured the still of a video. The image showed a masked spokesman who’d reportedly said, “Karl Parker was a legitimate target. As a member of the one percent, he had more than his fair share in life, and it’s time for others to enjoy his riches. We are the Ninety-nine and we shall eliminate the one percent to once again make America the land of free and equal opportunity.”
“I’m fine,” I told Rick as I studied the photograph of the masked man.
I’m going to find you, I thought. I’m going to find you and make you answer for what you’ve done.
CHAPTER 10
WE PASSED A number of purposeful cops as we walked through the building. I recognized the expressions on their faces from my time in the Marines. Some joked with a colleague, others talked seriously and some walked alone, but they all had the air of people who were caught up in things greater than themselves, that sense of mission that came with civic duty.
“What did you fly?” Rick asked as we passed an empty briefing room. One wall was covered
with NYPD intelligence bulletins.
“CH-46, Sea Knight,” I replied.